


snow

by Leocht (mayibetriumphant)



Series: The Motherlode [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Kenobi - John Jackson Miller, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 12:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15461856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayibetriumphant/pseuds/Leocht
Summary: What do most planets and death both have in common? Gravity!-in which Obi-Wan Kenobi, aged 43 and a half, former Jedi Master and General of the (once) Grand Army of the Galactic Republic is forced to confront the fact that everyone he’s ever cared for is more mortal than he is.





	1. Chapter 1

Who fears death but the living? The sentient instinct is to cling to life at all costs. Mind over matter--even if the body is dying, the mind usually struggles to continue on. It's interesting, but a little corny. That can't really be true for everyone. Or that's what Depa thought. But here, now, at the ripe old age of forty-one, she is  _ terrified  _ of the idea of her own death. Nearly twenty years spent dancing around the reality that one day she  _ would  _ die, and now…

Her seven year old twins are kept from her bedside. Just as well. Why should they suffer with her? It's...not really that it hurts. Worse has happened. But the  _ fear  _ in her heart threatens to eat her alive before the fever.

The twins, her babies! What will happen to them without her? They don't know their father at all, really, and cannot hide with her family. 

Depa thought she had accepted that she would die young. Under the searing lights of medbay, on that uncomfortable bed, with the creature, her son--

Dear, dear  _ Caleb! _ Will he come to welcome her into the Force? Or is he still among the living? Ugh, but she feels sick hoping she’ll see him soon. It's just been  _ so  _ long. So long with no word.

-/-/-

Obi-Wan pries his partner’s mouth open to force water down her throat. The Sand Fever’s dried her out so badly that even her fingertips are cracking and peeling. What he wouldn't give for a tank of bacta! Or even just some better antibiotics.The twins sit in the family room and play with their few toys. It's almost their bedtime, and it's finally cooling some. Poor Mukhi burns and tans so unevenly with her strange skin. He needs to make sure she put her lotion on before they get tucked in, or she’ll be miserable for days. Obi-Wan counts his lucky stars both children already had Dust Fever, and won’t ever catch what their mother has.

He's...exhausted. He puts the ladle back into the small bucket in their room. Depa’s breathing is shallow and pained. 

The former Jedi takes her hand, and holds it to his lips. “Deep, If I find out you've just been ignoring me, I’ll be quite cross.”

He doesn’t expect her to respond, and she doesn’t. The tiny crickets outside chirp. She still feels as vibrant as the day they met, even though her body seems to be nothing but a shell. He doesn’t know how long he kneels by her side before Bran starts hollering that his sister stole his precious blocks.

“Da! Da, she took them for doll food!”

“It’s  _ two _ out of ten blocks, boy. You’re going to bed soon, anyway.”

“But  _ Da _ \--”

“ _ Branagh _ .”

Obi-Wan unclenches his fist when he sees both children staring at him with their eyes big and wide.  _ Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. _

_ “ _ Come. It’s time for bed.”

“You have to say sorry for what you did.”

“Your Da is tired, younglings. Like you’ll be if you don’t cooperate and get to bed while it’s cool.”

They grumble, but start picking up their toys together.

Not long after, when both are sufficiently clean, slathered in ointment and snug in their small bed, it’s quiet. This end of nowhere is empty except for them, and occasionally a bounty hunter or Sand People.

Depa still hasn’t moved. But what was he expecting? For her to be up and smiling again if he left her alone for a few minutes? A thought makes him laugh bitterly. If he were anybody else, or perhaps in a holodrama, he might have died by now of heartsickness, leaving the poor children to be shipped off to their closest wealthy relative to live the galactic high life. But this is not a dramatized holo that will probably be made fifty years after they’re all gone. This is real life. One that doesn’t seem to have a swift end in mind for a woman who has suffered enough in her lifetime. 

He tries to meditate. It’s usually easier to center oneself with so few lives around. But just as twenty years ago, the Force skirts around the answer, like Chandramukhi when asked if she did her reading.

_ Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet— _

Obi-Wan falls asleep sitting up.


	2. Chapter 2

Mace was there. He held her hand, an expression of mild concern on his face as the droids did nothing in the sterile room. After all, a mathematically negligible number of human women died giving birth in that day and age. It hurt him to see her in pain, but there was no real need to be worried. Depa screamed and screamed while the thing inside her tore its bloody way out of her body. It clawed, it chewed, everything and anything it could do to escape.  
“Master, help me!”  
There was blood everywhere. On her body, in her mouth and nose-- why didn't he care?  
At her pleading, he pushed her hair back the way he used to when she was sick as a youngling. “It'll be over soon, Depa.”  
“No! Help me! It's killing me, Mace!”  
Force, why couldn't she die? This pain-- it was like nothing she'd ever felt!  
After an eternity, it hollowed her out and a droid held a squirming, spitting monster out to her.  
“It's a boy, Master Jedi.”  
The beast blinked its blue eyes owlishly at her. The sclera were black as the hair on its head, and its mouth was full of sharp, needle-like teeth.   
“You did a great job, Padawan.” Not-Mace (can't be Mace, he would do anything to save her) soothes.  
Its tiny mouth and hands are red and glistening, and she can see so many things that were never meant to be seen, shining and pulsing where her skin used to be.   
Her old master frowns in concern. “Don't you want to hold your baby, Depa?”  
“No! Get it away, get it--”

* * *

  
She wakes up with a shriek in her own bed before rushing to the fresher and heaving. The third time that week. Three times, she's had some variant of an...unspeakable dream, and three times she's been sick enough to break her morning routine. The transparisteel of the shower is cool against her overheating skin when she leans against it. Depa rolls up the hem of her sleepshirt. Her stomach is still blessedly smooth. Nothing sinister is growing in there to eat her alive. Nothing at all.  
Breathe in, and breathe out.   
_There is no death, only the Force…there is no...there is no harmony, there is peace--_ _  
_ She undresses quickly, and steps into the shower. She fiddles with the two dials for a moment. Sonic or…? No, she deserves water this morning. The young Jedi Master washes her hair while she waits for the water to warm up enough for her body. It’s coming up on three months since the Battle of Naboo, and the apparent return of the Sith. Also, the death of her...dear friend’s Master. Not that she misses him much. There was no love lost between him and most other masters. His  foul treatment of Obi-Wan in favor of Anakin didn't help him in her eyes either. Mace has commented on the profound change in Obi-Wan’s demeanor since he was a Padawan before. He was a sweet, kind boy who loved to learn and wanted nothing more than to become the best Jedi he could be. But to help _others_ instead of just for personal acclaim--actually, whatever. He’s almost twenty six, and Qui-Gon is dead. It’s up to him to change, if he wishes to--to break the cycle. Hopefully the boy won’t suffer in his care. It hurts her heart, but she can’t help him if he doesn’t wish to be helped.

Depa stumbles getting out of the shower. It’s that annoying little ledge at the door again. It’s the same way in Obi-Wan’s. She grumbles. That shouldn’t even be an _issue_ ! She’s a _Master_ Jedi!

The young woman rubs her temples. A migraine on her day off? She’ll need to stop by the medbay. She all but falls into one of her simpler outfits.. Mace always stressed the importance of looking neat, and she will. It feels as though her entire body is under pressure the way an ear might be at high altitudes.

Depa reaches out to her belt with the Force. It doesn’t come to her hand. It’s...quiet. The usual constant thrum of being surrounded by other lifeforms—a sensation she’s experienced since childhood is _gone._ No, no reason to panic yet. _Emotion, yet peace._ Emotion—she’s so scared!

The carpet is suddenly much closer to her face, and she distantly notes that those awful sounding, rattling breaths are hers.

Quinlan is there. They had plans to go out with friends. Why is he so panicked? She can't feel it, but she can hear it in his voice.

"Depa?! Depa, what happened?"

The world goes black again before she can answer.

* * *

 

Quinlan has been truly scared probably three times in his life. At the former top of his list was that one time with Obi-Wan where the flesh eating bugs chased them for like, a mile. In the jungle. The second was when he almost drowned on the same mission. And currently, the third time, the contender for the top, is right now. Deepika Billaba, his oldest, probably dearest friend, lays in front of him on the floor of her apartment, and he _can’t feel her._

He freezes for only a second before gathering her up and checking for vitals. The fear doesn’t ebb one bit when he finds an erratic pulse. Still, isn’t that better than none? He comms the medbay first. It’s an emergency, and Mace will find out sooner or later.

Quinlan is firmly seated in an uncomfortable chair when he realizes that he doesn’t remember getting there. He must have blanked all that out. He remembers feeling a black hole in the Force, almost. Where Depa should’ve been in the Force was a starving sarlacc, lashing out at a wandering traveler. The edges of his mind still tingle a bit like a foot waking up. It felt like...tiny hands or feelers were scrambling for purchase on _him._ That was the fourth time he was ever truly scared. Normally, he’d laugh in the face of danger. Partly because he’s not super scared of death. He’s died a lot already for missions. Actually, maybe that’s taken a toll on his brain? Maybe? It’s not like he’s _dead_ dead when that happens. How many concussions has he had by now? A lot? Hm. Anyway. Now isn’t the time to contemplate his own mortality. Or Depa’s. But whatever’s being done to her has to be worse than what he felt secondhand.

There’s a stack of tablets with holomags on them. He opens one of them. The headline is kinda funny. Some hack writer is trying to prove that some Duchess’ nephew is in fact her son, by a—Quinlan bursts out laughing and bookmarks that for future use.

“ _What_ exactly is so funny, Knight Vos?”

He snaps to attention. Master Windu doesn’t sound pleased at all. Which is understandable, since his Padawan is...sort of in the hospital at the moment and showing no signs of regaining consciousness any time soon. To be honest, he didn’t even realize he was there.

The younger man clears his throat. “It’ll be funnier in like, a week probably. How is she?”

Mace chews his lip momentarily. A horrible habit he knows he passed on to Depa. “Call Master Saa for me, would you?”

“I...okay. That doesn’t answer my question, though.”

“It’s not for me to tell you. Go.”

Quinlan nods in understanding. It must be serious, then. “I’ll be back soon.”

Mace holds up a hand to stop him for a moment. “Are _you_ alright? You sat there staring at that plant for quite a while.”   
“I mean, probably. If they just left me there, I mean.”   
“Fair enough.”   
Quinlan bows quickly and leaves.

* * *

 

Mace had been awake for hours before the medbay pinged him.  And if Depa disappearing from the Force didn’t alert him to something amiss, Vokara Che sounding _scared_ did.

He thinks of his dream—the one that woke him so rudely—as he sifts through the files he was left with. Deepika, older, not in the Temple. A small boy with her eyes, and a girl with her nose and mouth. She’s sick. It’s obvious even through the haze the shifting nature of timelines places over such visions.

“Amma, nai shinda. Mo nai shindaja!” The girl cries. It’s not a language Mace is familiar with, but her demand is clear.

She cannot respond, but she lifts a hand to touch her daughter’s face, but it’s wrong. It’s all wrong! Obviously, she left the Temple in order to keep the children. The dream ended there, but his worry continued. Now it seems he was right to be so concerned. There’s not a doubt in his mind that Depa is faithful to the Order. Or there wasn’t, before now. He had never factored in the possibility that she would be so irresponsible as to bring a child into the world like this.

But perhaps that is the issue? His former Padawan is young, but she is no fool. She would know what to do to ensure that she kept her much desired Council position, but it would eat at her heart. Her condition could be a manifestation of that turmoil. It wasn’t as though Jedi were sterile as a whole. Some choose to deliver the child or children, depending on the species, but others make use of outside resources to end their pregnancy as soon as possible. In general, any children born to a member of the Order was welcomed with open arms—provided of course, that they could be trained. Midichlorian counts tend to settle around the age of three months in humans, but the child’s actual ability may not manifest until later. Depa would have until then to decide to keep the child and leave them, or offer it to the crèche for safekeeping. She just isn’t cut out for life outside the Temple. She’s not unique in that, but obviously, her current situation is. Mace prays she won’t do what he thinks she will, but he has seen her death. Far from home, and from him. Far too young, just as she is now.

* * *

 

 

Quinlan finds Master Saa in the gardens, where she usually is. Depa likes it here too. And there’s a little alcove he can literally never hang out in again that he knows she and Obi-Wan favor for ‘alone time’. Ugh, _ew_. It’s horrific to think about. His ex and one of his only friends? Nasty. But kind of funny, actually. Tall, genius and kind Depa, and...whatever Obi-Wan is now. That beard he’s been trying to grow looks goofy, and mastery doesn’t suit him. He has no real idea how to handle a nine year old, and refused to turn him over to the creche for a while.

Depa has only been on an upward climb since her election to the Council. Obi on the other hand, has stagnated to be honest. Quinlan’s tried his best to help him back onto his feet, but he thinks he’s only been more embittered. He’s never wanted anyone’s pity. Having Anakin around to occupy him might help.

“You’re thinking some very dark thoughts, Quin.” Master Saa is sitting cross legged on a small hill with a small, yellow girl trying her best to show her how she learned to braid. Unfortunately, hair-like branches aren’t actually hair. It’s a bit tougher.

She pokes her head up. “Hello, Uncle!” Many of the younglings from her sector taken after they learned to speak call their elders ‘auntie’ or ‘uncle’ instead of Master. Some creche-masters attempt to break them of that habit, but T’ra doesn’t feel like it’s a battle worth fighting.

“Hello, Bari. May I speak to Master Saa in private for a moment? I’ll take you back to the crèche after.”

“Aw, I was having fun. And where’s Pika?”

“She doesn’t feel well, but I’m sure she’ll greatly appreciate one of your wonderful, handmade cards.”

She pouts briefly. Quinlan is a bad influence and thus isn’t placed on creche duty very often, but Depa and Luminara both spend a lot of time with her clan, and she adores them.

“Yes! I’ll do that before bed.”

“Good. Run along for now.”

“What is it, youngling?” T’ra asks.

“Depa is ill. I went to visit and I found her unconscious. She’s stable, apparently, but Mace wanted me to get you over there.”

She creaks when she stands. “Well, alright. I’d ask if she’d been drinking, but Obi-Wan is gone.”

“Depa doesn’t drink.”

“To your knowledge.”

Quinlan snorts. His ‘knowledge’ is everything about her, pretty much—he’s known her since they were fresh out of diapers. Well, no. That would be an embarrassingly long time to be in diapers. Tholme brought him back to Coruscant when he was seven.

T’ra knows that, obviously. She smiles at her own joke.  “Go, play with your little friend. I’ll tend to your _big_ friend.”

* * *

 

Mace sits next to his Padawan’s bed, doing his best and failing to tune out the beeping of all the monitors attached to her body. He still almost can’t believe it, except that he does.

There’s a knock on the divider.

“Come in, Master.”

“Hello, youngling.” Master Saa knows very well how old he is, but he will always be little to her. Literally too. She’s twice his height.

Mace has always found comfort in his old master’s presence. “Their medical tests have found nothing amiss, but her body is still shutting itself down. I thought maybe you could find the source of the problem.”

“What gave you that idea?” She asks gently. At times, even Mace loses his ability to reason straight. Not that many decent masters wouldn’t fret over their padawans in such a state.

“Skywalker. He and his mother claim that he had no father. And I’m not entirely sure if that’s a metaphor or not, but if it isn’t, I would prefer not to accidentally spark a witch hunt for the father of my Padawan’s child if there isn’t one.”

T’ra has no eyebrows, but the bark on her forehead crinkles in a clear grimace. “Mace, I recognize that you see her as your own child, and no father wants to—“

“No, Master Saa. I’ve seen...I saw something, and I must ask that you don’t let doubt cloud your mind in this. For her sake.”

She purses her lips. “Let me see her records. I’ll read over them and speak to Master Che before I do anything with her.”

He inclines his head. “Of course, Master. Thank you very much.”

The poor girl. Well, she says that but she must be at least twenty...three by now. She feels curious about the new presence. Wait—not _her._ “What in the…?”

“What, what is it?”

She holds up a hand and her old padawan sits back down. “Shh.” Whatever it is that’s taken up residence in the girl feels to her like a snake uncoiling from around its prey, flicking its tongue out to test the air. Deepika has become a sinkhole in the Force because something is drawing on her. But not feeding--no, _shielding_. Odd.

“Later, Mace. I’d like you to get some rest. Meditate, clear your mind. The Council will need to be informed of this.”  
“Surely the others don’t need to know so soon?”   
“It wasn’t a request, Mace. I will ensure that she survives this intact.” Which she almost certainly will. Her sudden loss of consciousness was likely a one time side effect of being so abruptly disconnected from the Force. A painful thing for one born and raised around other Jedi.

He looks like he wants to argue, but sees the wisdom in that. Especially if for once his old master is incorrect and he has to give a certain someone a severe dressing down. Well, two someones. It takes two. Right? Usually. Deepika certainly wouldn’t be exempt from a tongue lashing. He’ll need time to gather his thoughts. Yes, time. So that Depa can have the time that she deserves. 

**Author's Note:**

> *dun dun dun* All this can and may be explained in the next installation of either this fic specifically, or within the series. I just thought I’d put this out before school starts up for me again.


End file.
